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Born from a love of horror, ponderous thoughts and meandering topics, Exquisite Terror is a periodical that takes a more academic approach to the horror genre, featuring exclusive art, script analysis and in-depth essays.

To celebrate Halloween (our favourite time of year!) we're having a sale, so if you'd like to pick up a copy, while stocks last, head here to do so. Issue 1 has completely sold out, but there are still limited copies of issues 2, 3 and 4.

Today's image is a photograph I took a couple of years back - it's a turnip I'd carved for Halloween. When I was a child my parents would carve turnips instead of pumpkins - it's an old Irish tradition. The story of how carved turnips came to be used as lanterns varies throughout Europe. According to a spooky old Irish tale, a measly farmer called Stingy Jack tricked the Devil into climbing a tree. Once the Devil was high up in the moonlit branches, Stingy Jack carved a cross into the bark so he couldn’t get down again.
Jack only agreed to let the Devil down when he promised never to take the farmer’s soul.

When Stingy Jack eventually died, he was too sinful to pass through Heaven’s gates, and as the Devil had promised never to take his soul, he was damned to always wander the earth in search of a resting place. He carved out a turnip, and inside placed a glowing ember the Devil gave him to light his lonely way. He became known as "Jack of the Lantern."
Ha…

"Ravens are the birds I'll miss most when I die. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. Instead, become ravens." Louise Erdrich, The Painted Drum

"The Devil pulls the strings which make us dance; We find delight in the most loathsome things; Some furtherance of Hell each new day brings, And yet we feel no horror in that rank advance."
Charles Baudelaire

"Now he was praying because the Witches' Sabbath was drawing near [...] when hell's blackest evil roamed the earth and all the slaves of Satan gathered for nameless rites and deeds. It was always a very bad time... There would be bad doings, and a child or two would probably go missing."
HP Lovecraft, Dreams in the Witch House

So I went on and on till I came to the secret wood which must not be described, and I crept into it by the way I had found. And when I had gone about halfway I stopped... I bound the handkerchief tightly round my eyes, and made quite sure that I could not see at all, not a twig, nor the end of a leaf, nor the light of the sky... Then I began to go on, step by step, very slowly. My heart beat faster and faster, and something rose in my throat that choked me and made me want to cry out, but I shut my lips, and went on. Boughs caught in my hair as I went, and great thorns tore me; but I went on to the end of the path. Then I stopped, and held out my arms and bowed, and I went round the first time, feeling with my hands, and there was nothing. I went round the second time, feeling with my hands, and there was nothing. Then I went round the third time, feeling with my hands, and the story was all true, and I wished that the years were gone by, and that I had not so long a time to wait befo…

The woods enthralled her... Little by little did she become absorbed into them... She would sit for hours motionless, hoping, believing, that at any moment the revelation might come to her, and that she would see the Dryads dancing, and hear the pipes of Pan.

The woods were aware of her, the trees knew of her presence and were watching her... A feeling of pride, of joy, of a little fear, possessed her... She knew something great was coming, something awe-inspiring, something, perchance, terrible!

Already she began to feel invisible, inaudible beings closing in upon her, already she began to know that slowly her strength, her will, were being drawn out of her. And for what end? Terror began to possess itself of her...

"It was just a colour out of space — a frightful messenger from unformed realms of infinity beyond all Nature as we know it; from realms whose mere existence stuns the brain and numbs us with the black extra-cosmic gulfs it throws open before our frenzied eyes."
H.P. Lovecraft, The Colour Out of Space

It’s October. The month when daylight fades into long nights, cooler air, and when the trees demonstrate the golden and rich glory of death. I had hoped to celebrate the coming of Halloween by posting daily reviews and anecdotes to the blog, but once again ‘real life’ has stepped in and prevented me from doing so. I’m currently amending my book on The Company of Wolves for Devil’s Advocates and have just embarked on a post-graduate diploma, so, for now, my time is otherwise occupied. That said, I’ve (once again) been inspired by my good friend Christine over at Fascination with Fear who, throughout this month, is posting wonderfully creepy images to her blog in honour of all things October, Halloween, spooky and autumnal. This is a great way to celebrate a favourite time of the year, and to appreciate its beauty revealed through the macabre.

James is the author of several books about horror films, and he frequently contributes to Exquisite Terror and Diabolique. His writing has also appeared in various online and print publications including Paracinema, Film Ireland, Eye for Film, Little White Lies and The Quietus.